Oh For Hell
by Harmony283
Summary: “I don’t…need,” he tried, and maybe he was blushing again, or maybe it was because of the alcohol, but really—I didn’t pay attention to that in the long run. I had to keep him steady. MULTIPLE PAIRINGS TxL KxA LxK AxR to name a few...R&R Plz! -EDITED-


**Err, not sure where the heck this idea came from, but I guess it stemmed from **_**not**_** wanting to constantly work on another fanfic of mine (Since I'm already painfully ahead in it –looks around nervously-). That and my brain somehow convinced itself that it'd be fun to write about pairings I don't normally focus on.**

**Summary: Because 'normal' has every right to throw you out whenever the hell it feels like. Now Tell me: Do you **_**like**_** normal so much anymore? **

**Pairings: P-Please Don't make me list them...um...MULTIPLE overall, but in this chapter: Tyki x Lavi, Road x Allen, Lulubell x Tyki are the main ones/hinted. BUT do NOT expect these pairings (or any mentioned in later chapters) to turn out the way you expect them to! I'm giving fair warning now!  
**

**Note: I use different languages in this. In fact, I use -counts- 4, I believe. Portuguese, French, Dutch, and one-word of Latin. I have a friend who speaks Dutch, my girlfriend speaks both French AND Spanish (is French-borne), and can understand pretty much everything I've written that's in Portuguese, but I won't pretend I'm an expert. I'm at the mercy of online translators for most of the Portuguese (and the one word of Latin), thus, if someone _does_ know ****it, and realizes I've made an error PLEASE tell me (and give the correction) and I WILL change it. Also, EXTENSIVE ending authors Note. It has the translations, in order (along with some miscellaneous info). Yes I did an over abundance of research for this. And I found it all entirely too amusing. Is that bad? Well, I enjoyed it, so...no? XD  
**

**WARNING(S): AU, language, innuendo's, alcohol usage, mild violence, shounen-ai, yaoi, UST, etc, etc…you get the jist, no?**

**Disclaimer: I don't claim ownership of D. Gray Man. In fact, I wouldn't **_**dream**_** of owning it, because I'd probably screw it up and over, just because. I also don't claim ownership to any of the songs any character listens to *or mentions* (even though none appear in this chapter) and I certainly didn't create the languages they're speaking. –blinks- wait…does that deserve a disclaimer? O.o **

**Song Dedication: Long Shot by Kelly Clarkson **

**EDIT:**

**Translator (Portuguese): Evanescent Silence- THANK YOU SO MUCH for taking the time correct all of my mistakes (Stupid translate engine things...when I SAY I want Portuguese, I mean the actual Portuguese from PORTUGAL -sighs- silly thing...-laughs-) **

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(Tyki's POV) **

"And the God Almighty—_so fucking what?" _I looked up briefly when I heard the door slam, but I already knew who it was. Sure enough, as the clock struck a steady 4:00PM—16:00PM, by the Army time watch on the dresser—a familiar red-haired teen came ambling through the room, kicking off his shoes, and tossing his jacket on the nearest piece of furniture. It was his afternoon, ritual, but really, did it oh so _get_ annoying after a while.

But I knew better than to say that when I actually up and _looked_ at him, or rather, his _expression_. Dark and brooding, and generally not in the happy-happy temperament he usually beheld.

And goodness, I had to wonder what would throw _him_ out of, well, anyone in the world. It almost seemed impossible, but then, _'I'd been wrong before.' _And from the way he plopped, roughly, down on the couch beside me, I didn't have a doubt in my mind that now was one of those times I was wrong. He wasn't _always_ happy. Of course, logically speaking that wasn't _possible_. But for Lavi—he damn near got close.

"May I ask _what_ you're talking about?" I decided to ask instead, referring to his entry words as I buried my head in the paper.

He simply sunk further into the couch—I could tell, because the cushion sank a little, along with him—grumbling something incoherent before letting out a huff. "Nothing."

I raised an eyebrow at that and folded the paper, placing it neatly on the coffee table—naturally where any other important news facts went, when company wasn't over, or it wasn't New Years, and said, curtly, "Of course not. You're just in a horrid mood for no apparent reason."

"Yup." He winced as he said it, though, because he noticed I noticed, and he knew I would ask about it.

"You're completely certain?"

He exhaled sharply, "No. Well, _fuck_, okay yeah, something _did_ happen." Then he hesitated, "I—don't think I should say, though."

"And why not?" I wondered for the sake of wondering, "did a teacher explain something wrong again?" Because I knew him better than I did when he first arrived on my doorstep, bloody and bruised because his grandfather had kicked him out. He was a stickler for correct facts, in an insane order and—and if someone got them wrong, he gave them bloody hell about it until they _got_ it right.

"Thankfully, no," he let out a laugh, and slightly relaxed, leaning his head back, and closing his one good eye, "That would've made my shitty day even _worse_. And damn was it—" he halted his words.

"Was it?" I prompted, "Go on, you can tell me."

"But it isn't like me." He blinked at the ceiling, almost woefully, but not quite, "I don't complain, dammit, but," he worried his lip with his teeth. He'd draw blood soon. His bad habit.

"Oh come now, don't do that." I reached over and held his face gently between my hands, he immediately let his lip go, and instead cocked his head, slightly, curious, "It's because you don't complain that I want to know."

"It might seem selfish."

"And? If it does, then it proves you've learned something." Because goodness knows how broken he was when I first received him. Hadn't even _known_ him that well, truthfully. It was good to see that bit of human coming back.

But he still hesitated regardless, though, though eventually his lips parted again, and explained, "Today was downright shitty, like I said. And it—it got real bad at lunch." I nodded my head mildly for him to continue, "You know…you know my friend Yuu? Yuu Kanda?"

I thought the name over for a moment, "Long hair, dark eyes? Very Japanese?"

He nodded his head enthusiastically, "Well I _thought_ everything was going good. Him and Allen—I know you know Allen, right? White hair, blue eyes?" I nodded my head, Road wouldn't let me forget about _him_, "Well…we got about half way through lunch before either of them snapped. You'd never _guess_ what it was about."

"Something stupid?"

His mouth shut for a moment, and he cocked his head to the _other_ side, "Actually, no," now I was impressed, "Yeah, impressive isn't it? It made sense this time, except it was really, really bad." His face turned to a grimace, "I barely got Yuu off Allen before the principal came by."

My eyes widened at that, "So they finally got in trouble for it?"

"Yeah, though, somehow," he scratched the side of his face, almost apologetic like, "Yuu managed to get off, um, I think because _Allen's_ the one who said it to start off with."

Now I was _very_ intrigued, "And what exactly did he say?"

"Something personal." He was avoiding the subject, maybe for a good reason, but if he_ hadn't _want to tell me, then he wouldn't have brought it up to begin with, "About, ah, about Kanda's family." Ah. Wait. "They aren't alive anymore." He clarified, "So—so you can see how that got…out of hand." And I definitely could.

"I didn't think the boy would say something like that." I shook my head slightly in disbelief.

"I didn't even know he _knew_ about it." Lavi let out a laugh, "which tells you how much I've been paying attention over the last couple of days." He let his shoulders sag a bit, exhaling loudly before straightening them again, "But, yeah, they both got sent to the principal's office—Tiedoll got called out of class, Cross did too. They had to 'explain' the situation, and try to keep the two from killing each other. Kanda got entirely off the hook, since I think Principal Yeegar just a bit tired of hearing how he blew up at someone again," he looked to his side, grinning ever so slightly, "And Allen got ISS for roughly two weeks, they almost expelled him—it was his first major offense though."

"But wouldn't that just be leading to trouble?" I had to wonder, "Isn't Cross the main…?"

"Disciplinary teacher? Yeah, he is." Lavi leaned back a little more against the cushions, "But he switches with Mrs. Nine every two class periods, so he can actually teach a class."

"What does he teach?"

"Err, I think…Physics, or Chemistry, or Chemics, I can't remember." he tried to list them off, head cocked to the other side, thoughtfully, "But it's a bit surprising. I really thought they'd send him to crossroads, just because, y'know, Cross's his guardian and all."

"I would've thought likewise as well," I agreed, fiddling with the cuffs of my sleeves, before reaching over again, and straightening Lavi's shirt, which seemed twice as wrinkled as normal. "Now what else happened?" Because I knew that couldn't be it. He didn't let what happened to his friends bug him, no matter how he outwardly displayed his emotions.

That made him sulk again, and I almost felt bad. Almost. He let out another gust of air from his lungs, before rapidly sucking it back up again, "I'd say that's really it but," he shook his head, "I'd figured you'd know enough by now." He bowed his head ever so slightly, and another pause of silence over took the room, as it often did—especially in the beginning. But it had almost been a year now. It would be in, what? Two months? Three?

Then, slowly, he articulated the words, they formed on his lips and fell, one by one, like droplets, "Lenalee's worried about me again." He let out a choked laugh immediately afterwards, "Dammit, because I think she remembers—remember how I, last year, around this time I-I sorta…fell?" I nodded my head. Of course I remembered, it wasn't a question of how good my memory was or not. "Well, she's thinking I might again. Like—like it's a damn seasonal stress thing, since it's almost the end of the year."

"True," I hesitated, slightly, "You wrote it off as stress and an argument with your grandfather, yes?"

He nodded his head, running his hands through his bangs—grabbing and tugging his headband down, until it looped around his neck, "Yeah—she…she still buys that. They all do. They know from what I told 'em, that gramps _hates_ visitors. So I've been able to avoid any—any direct confrontation about it, and damn I'm surprised but," He closed his eye again, sighing, "she's still started the argument. I couldn't convince her otherwise."

"And that put you in an even worse mood?"

He simply nodded his head, "Shit yeah, I got enough crap getting the shit yelled out at me from Kanda _and_ Allen, but then she turns around and yells at me too. I know she's stressed, but she should know me better." I didn't mention it, and I probably should have. No matter what, he was a difficult person to know. And even—and even if they had known him longer than I did, if they only ever talked to him at _school_ then—but I didn't say a word. I just let him continue, "Then of course, I got yelled at for sleeping in Math again. We had a test though, an' I got finished early, so it's no big deal there. Nearly got me a Saturday School, since she's a bitch like that."

I felt my eye twitch, "Apparently."

"And then—last period," Last period meaning 8th, though for him 9th period, since he _had_ a zero period as well, as an aide, "I ran into Allen again, in the hallway and—" he stopped. His words completely died on his lips, "He's having issues, I think."

"What makes you say that?"

"You know Road's your niece, right?" I nodded my head, my stomach slowly, _slowly_ beginning to sink because _faintly—faintly_ I knew where this was going, "Well, he was _flirting_ with her in the hallway. Or, well, she did a fair bit of clinging too. But that's normal, right? You know she likes him, right?"

"I've heard from Sheryl." Heard him rant and rave how he severely disliked how such a sweet boy could make Road so _impure_, which really made no sense to me, but I had to sit and listen to his rants, and I knew better than to try to disagree with him during them—if I wanted to keep my dignity.

"Do you think it's fuckin' _normal_ to have a best friend cry over that?" I blinked, he explained, "I went to the library to pay a damn fine, since they were fuckin' yellin' at me about it, apparently Lenalee's eighth period was in there—doing research, and Allen had gotten permission to go too, since he needed one book for the project—he has the same teacher, just in a different class, I think." I nodded my head, "Well—okay, so he was in there, and Road and Lenalee are in the same class. They're usually friends, get along great, rant about Allen and his cuteness—which yes, I've had the pain of overhearing a few times. Well—apparently she followed him out, and she _wasn't_ quiet about it."

A bit wordy, but, "She did?" Oh dear, oh dear, maybe Sheryl _was_ right. If she was friends with someone, she normally _wouldn't_—

"Yeah, Lenalee nearly bolted to the bathroom after they left—but she saw me before she got through the doors, and I had to—_damn_." He covered his face with one big palm, "_damn_ I'm just—_damn_."

"Emotionally drained?" I wondered.

"Y_es_. I've never—_fuck_ never that much—_never_—not in the same fuckin'_ day_. Because I can _handle_ it if it's just one damn thing." He shifted on the couch, leaning against the armrest, "Tell me I'm sane for listening to that shit."

"You are." Immediately the words came, "And a good friend."

"So it was fuckin' worth feeling like shit?" His looked at me from the corner of his eye, "Because that's what I feel like now."

"Why?" I couldn't fathom _why_, "You—you did help your friend, right?" He nodded his head slowly, "Then you shouldn't—"

"I _know_ I shouldn't, but I feel like shit because I guess," he let out a strained laugh, "I guess you could _say_ I sorta guessed she wasn't just ranting about him emptily. Neither of 'em was. But I fuckin' _guessed_," Now he pulled his knees up, "I _guessed_ she'd make the first move and Lenalee'd be left in the dust—and if it turned out that way—if it _did_ damn it all, then _too bad_—sucks for Lenalee. She needs to grow a damn backbone."

I stared at him for a moment. His shoulders were shaking, just barely, at the words he had just spoken and—he really—"Want some Tylenol?" He barely nodded his head, "How many?"

"Four."

I raised an eyebrow, "That's a bit much." He lifted his head only marginally, his face was pinched, and slightly red, like he was arguing with himself, and holding in tears. That's another thing I hadn't seen him do since he arrived here. He never cried. Poor boy. I let out a sigh and stood from the couch, "Fine, four it is. Stay right there."

I maneuvered around the couch, into the adjoining kitchen—it was quite small, all things considering, but it had enough to cook a nice meal, whenever the chance arose that one of us felt like cooking. Fast food or fancy restaurants worked just as nice. I looked at each of the cabinets, trying to remember which held the medicine and, after rummaging for a while, acquired the Tylenol and a bottle of ice cold water from the fridge.

I made my way back into the living room area, where Lavi was still huddled on his side of the couch, muttering something under his breath in a decidedly foreign language I couldn't quite understand. When I made my way around to the couch, handing him the water and the medicine—well, I handed him the medicine first, and put the bottle of water on the coffee table—he took it, gratefully, and mumbled, "Obrigado,"**(1)** under his breath.

"De nada."**(2)** I replied back with a shrug, situating myself on the couch again, and picking up the newspaper. But out of the corner of my eye I watched, as he popped each pill into his mouth, with a gulp of water to accompany it. Afterward, he placed the bottle back down on the coffee table, and sank even farther into the couch. Now I was worried. I quickly placed the newspaper back on the coffee table and asked, "Estás bem?"**(3)**

He let out a groan, "Nem por isso.**(4)** I feel like shit."

I raised an eyebrow at that, "Then _lie down_." He let out another groan, "Really, if you're head bothers you that much, it would be better if you did. In your room, in your bed, with the lights off."

"Isso não ajuda."**(5)**

" Então o que é que sugeres?" **(6)**

He thought that over for a moment, before sighing, "Not talking?"

I let out a laugh, "W_ell_ if you leave the room, then I'm prone to not talk."

"But I just got back from school." He lifted his head off the armrest and, surprisingly, flopped over so he rested against my arm.

"And?" I shifted a bit, but he just pressed against it harder, letting out a chuckle.

"Podes distrair-me.**(7)**" If I had been any less dignified—and if he had any less of a headache then—

Or rather, if I had been drinking something I probably would have choked, "_O quê?" _**(8)**

He blinked, "O quê?"

"You do realize what that sounded like?" I furthered, and he just blinked again, "Suggestive?"

Another thing I had never seen him do—blush. Well, scratch that, I might have _once_ when Lulubell had come to visit, but it was only slightly, and he had left the room almost immediately—mostly for dignities sake, considering she had walked in with nothing but a skimpy night shirt and _panties _on—and he hadn't even known she'd been staying over.

But he got it, and he blushed, slightly, anyway. Nowhere near the vibrant color of his hair. But it still counted, and it was still quite amusing—considering _he_ was the one who told _me_ to amuse him, and yet it happened vice versa.

He shoved himself away from me, muttering hurriedly, "That's not what I meant! Não foi isso que eu quis dizer!" **(9)**

"A sério?"**(10)**

He nodded his head rapidly, before stopping, because obviously it must've hurt, or at least made him dizzy, "I-I'm going…to my room." And he stood, delicately, from the couch, and wobbled—made me wonder if giving him four Tylenol had been the best choice of action—over towards the small hall that led to our individual rooms.

Only when I heard the door open, then close, and the click of the lock did I allow myself to chuckle, ever so slightly. Really, the boy _was_ amusing. Sometimes. I was almost glad I had taken him in—despite what the others had said.

I reached over to the coffee table once more, and grabbed the newspaper, unfolding it before flipping to the page I had stopped at. The weather, a nice balmy 72 degrees—22.2 two two two two repeating, in Celsius, as the thermometer I knew I had on the screen doors to the porch, said.

The perfect day. Except for the fact, Lavi felt like crap. The poor boy.

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**(Mimi's POV) (11)**

"I am not going." When those words left her mouth, I had to say I was at least a little surprised. Only marginally. Okay. Maybe a little more than that. And I had to ask:

"Why not?"

"If you have to ask _that_," her scowl set just a little deeper, as she flipped her hair over one shoulder, and slipped her sunglasses just a little farther on her nose, "Then I don't see the reason I should _tell_ you."

"But Lulubell," I tried to insist, but she held her hand up—with her perfectly manicured fingernails and—

I couldn't resist, "Do you need another manicure?" I rummaged through my purse and immediately brought out the small handbag I kept all my different nail polishes, and hand crèmes and nail files in.

She smiled faintly at me, and I almost, almost blushed, "That would be nice, Mimi. I was getting bored." She laid her hand easily on the side table, yawning in that elegant way of hers that I just _loved_. She was so graceful so—so—

I giggled, "Okay! Well, they look nice enough already so, would you like me to paint them?"

She shrugged her shoulders, and even that was done elegantly, "What colors do you have?" she adjusted herself ever so briefly, so she was leaning forward—far enough so that she could see what was in my collection.

"Well I have pink, red, and a fuchsia. But we've already done those colors, and I know you don't like to repeat." I immediately cast those aside, and saw her smile at the motion—with feline grace. "Um, and…we have a few other bright colors though I-I don't know…" She reached forward and rummaged for a moment-even then it was graceful, though I knew she didn't know what she was looking for. She never cared enough to sift through my things unless I was there to guide her.

"How about this color?" She held it up to the sun—which thankfully, was still high in the sky, I hated it when it got dark early, though I'd never _say_ that to, oh no—and it glinted, darkly, off the bottle.

"Such a dark color." I murmured. And it was, about the darkest color—midnight blue, or it could even be black, she was holding the label away from me, "Are you sure?"

She nodded her head, and yawned lazily, handing me the bottle, and resting her hand against the side table, "I need a change of pace anyway, don't I?" she shifted a little, as I moved to the side—closer to her hand. Goodness knows what she'd do if I spilt any, or made the coat uneven—I didn't even—I didn't even _want_ to think of it—and relaxed again, letting out another dainty yawn, "I wonder what Tyki will say when he sees."

"I-I don't know, ma'am." I murmured, in response, carefully unscrewing the cap, "I think he will notice though, if you go to see him."

"I hope so." She smiled, blissfully, which quickly turned, sadly, sour, and immediately I asked—

"What's wrong?"

She heard my concern and smiled again, but it was bitter around the edges, and ruined her natural grace, "I was just thinking, that boy might be distracting him again."

_'That boy?' _Ah—but the image of the redhead immediately came to me, "Oh, his…roommate?"

"I wouldn't call him that." She laughed, but again it was sour and highly unpleasant, "Or at least, I won't call him one. I…dislike him." She leaned her head back slightly as I began to slowly paint her first nail—I was right, it was closer to black, but it looked nice, against her pale skin. "I've told you this, haven't I?"

I paused for a moment so I could respond, "I…believe you have, but you never clarified." Even though she had before, slightly, I wanted to hear her speak. It was easier to concentrate when one was talking. And I hated to be in silence around her anyway, when I could hear her soothing voice.

"I see," she started calmly, "Well, for the beginning he just _showed up_ from nowhere, and it's highly unlike Tyki to take a boy in, even _if_ he's met them through previous circumstances." Her face soured for a moment, but because of her sunglasses I couldn't read her eyes, "He even turned away women that claimed to be _his_ and what to live _for him_. It was all just highly unusual, you understand?"

I nodded my head, "Highly, ma'am. What do you hypothesize is behind…this?"

"The boy might have some kind of blackmail on him." She hummed wistfully, "I wouldn't put it past such a strange appearance. And—I've met him once, when I stayed over. He acts completely normal, like he doesn't have those—those necessary quirks that make one _human_."

I hummed in response, moving to her second nail, trying my best to keep my hands from shaking, thankfully they didn't, I had gotten so used to this.

"He also wouldn't look at me." Her voice had dropped, but still held that wonderful rhythm in it, "Do you think that could mean something as well?"

I paused my hand and opened my mouth, "Only if you want it to, miss." I was about to paint her nail again, to even the coat, but another thought came to my lips, "It—you _are _very beautiful, ma'am. No man can…look away from you."

"Even if he isn't interested." She sighed, "Yes, yes, I know. C'est de notoriété publique." (**12)**She paused, "Unfortunately."

"With some men, yes," I agreed softly, "So maybe—maybe he isn't interested but…then…if you don't like him then shouldn't that be a good thing?"

She let out a gentle laugh at that, "Mimi, darling," I flinched, she never called me that unless I made a mistake, "of course I'm glad he doesn't like me. I wouldn't want a boy like that staring at me—at all." She sighed, "But then, Tyki doesn't either."

"And you…hold…strong affection for Tyki?" It was hesitant at best, mostly because it was a hidden secret.

But it was so fun to see her blush—her pale complexion _glowed_.

"I—I," It was even rarer to see her stammer, even in her elegant speech, "do, in a way. He—we grew up together."

I nodded my head, concentrating on the fingernail I was on, "You've said so."

"I'll admit, when we were younger I never _wanted_ him to look at me that way." She was choosing her words carefully, meticulously, like how I was taking care of her nails, and beauty—careful not to make a mistake, "But now it seems inevitable, doesn't it?" I looked up at her, she was smiling, but blushing still, "After all—we were both found by the Earl. And just a few years back, he allowed Sheryl to adopt Road legally, even get _married_ to the woman he fell in love with."

_'Fell in love with?' _I bit my tongue from saying something to that. It was common knowledge—hidden, but still in the air—that that wasn't entirely true. He just wanted Road. And even in a free society such as _this_ one, not every string could be pulled; some rules still had to be followed.

"Though it's worrisome that he hasn't had another child yet." She added on to her previous statement, "What do you think?" she was looking at me now, through her tinted lenses.

I couldn't meet her in the eyes, "I-I believe he has enough with Road." My hand had started to shake, thus I brought it away from her own, capping the nail polish or a moment, "After all, Tricia also seems…a bit frail, don't you think?"

She raised an elegant eyebrow at this, as if really thinking it over. After a moment, though, she spoke, "C'est logique." **(13)**It was quiet, but, silently, I was relieved. She agreed with me. "Though I'm sure Road would love siblings." But as the words left her mouth, she immediately changed them, "Though on second thought, maybe not."

I let out the breath I had been holding, "I-I don't think…it would be a good idea either. She's already fifteen, isn't she?"

"Oui," she nodded her head, "The age difference would be too great. She'd be stuck as a babysitter."

_'Or we would be.' _But I didn't say that.

"Goodness knows, she'd hate that," she let out an amused laugh, "Wouldn't she?"

"Ah, yes," I quickly agreed, uncapping the nail polish before getting back to her nails. I had two more to do, and so far they were turning out nicely. "Besides, she's…so busy with school now."

"Oui, oui," her giggle turned nearly childish, but it had such a wonderful ring to it, "I even heard something interesting about her school."

"Her school?"

"Life," she added on, her fingers twitching, but only slightly, "Have you heard?" I shook my head, just so she could tell me, "Well I'm surprised, but I'll tell you and maybe you really _have_ heard it before." I continued to paint her nail, albeit a little quicker now, just in case her news was shocking—and I got done, with the first one, and the last one, I knew, would only take a few swipes—

"Elle a un petit ami."**(14) **

I lifted the brush just in time, and capped the bottle, "What?"

She smiled, knowingly, but excitedly as well, "Yes, apparently Sheryl hasn't met him yet, but, I've heard her talking—on the phone—to the boy. I haven't outright asked her, yet, do you think I should?"

I barely nodded my head yes, "It's—that would be…_wonderful_, though."

"It would be, wouldn't it?" Her laugh turned more mature, defined, beautiful, "I was starting to wonder if she had scared the boys off. Goodness knows how many times Tyki said she had."

"But if it's true then."

"Then we _must_ tell him." She finished my sentence for me, realizing I was done with her hand in the same moment, and, gracefully, she extended the other, shifting a little more so she was comfortable.

And immediately I began to paint her nails again, "When will you see her, though?" It was a logical question, at least in my mind, "Since she's so busy?"

"Oh, actually, I thought ahead." She hummed happily, leaning over me, to watch my work closely, almost like a cat, "I invited her over today, as a…girl's night in, you could say. It _is_ a Friday after all."

"True," I agreed, "When will she be over?"

"She said she had Art Club, or some such, after school. But, she agreed." She smiled approvingly at me. Apparently my fast pace was satisfactory now. It made my insides flip—giddy and bubbly.

"And you'll ask her tonight?" I wondered, and she clucked her tongue in response, "After…dinner? And maybe a movie?"

"What movie should we rent?"

"I don't know." She cocked her head slightly to the side, her finished hand twitching slightly, "Which movies have come out? I don't…get out often enough to check."

"Well we can when I get done." I stated, "When does her art club end?"

"It should have already ended, a few minutes ago." She was looking past me, at the sun dial clock, "It's almost four fifty, now. She said it ended at four thirty. Though she might be staying to talk with friends."

"Maybe her boyfriend?" I hesitantly brought up, "That would make sense."

"Yes it would." She agreed, now, almost lazily, "In fact, maybe—after we're done, of course—we could—I told her to call." I was on her second to last nail now, and her smile was even brighter, in that calm way she had.

"So she'll call and?"

"We'll pick her up, if she doesn't have a ride. Or we'll tell her to wait, that way we can just run by the movie rental place and choose a movie."

"That sounds like an excellent idea." I immediately agreed, though, as I finished her last nail, and capped the bottle again, I silently hoped, _'Please don't let it be another morbid one. I don't—I don't think I'd like that very much.' _

I'd rather have her laugh uninterrupted through an entire movie, than be enwrapped by a bloody orgy. Definitely. For sure.

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**(Allen's POV) **

"Y-You got paint in your hair." She was laughing, hard, at me, and I knew my face was turning red.

"What? Where?" She pointed to a strand I had managed to somehow miss when I had pulled back my hair, and, sure enough, when I glanced at the back of my ipod—it had a convenient mirror on it, after all—I saw it nearly _covered_ in paint, "What? How the—how'd it _get_ there?"

"I-I don't know." She giggled even harder, which could only mean _she_ had been the one to put it there, "B-But…you should wash it off, it's getting on your cheek." I quickly swiped my hand across said cheek, "And now you've smeared it." And again, she was right.

Great.

"I-I'll be right back." I could tell Tiedoll was staring at us, from across the room where he had been helping someone outline a mural—the one that was supposed to somehow be painted on the wall by the choir room—and everyone else was turning to us too. Because Road laughed at every little thing, they thankfully learned how to ignore her, but—but it was _because_ she was laughing at _me_ that they were looking.

I felt my face flush even further, as I stood quickly up, and rushed out of the room. I hated it when people stared at me. I wasn't self conscious—tried to—tried to tell myself that anyway—no. I _wasn't_. But. It wasn't _my_ fault I had white hair. Mana said I was born that way. And my left arm—sure it was a bit…darker in shade. That hadn't been my fault either. It was still perfectly useable, and I had it covered nearly year around. They didn't need to stare so much, but they did.

They also stared at my eye too, but that wasn't as bad. So what if it was blind? You couldn't really tell unless you _really_ looked at it.

But—but they still did.

I swallowed thickly as I pushed the door open to the boy's bathroom. It smelled like smoke—almost made me gag, but I held it in. Smoke reminded me of Cross, he smelled like it all the time—made me wonder how Mana—poor Mana, he was allergic to the damn stuff—could hang_ around_ with that man on a daily basis.

The only difference about this smoke, though, was it was—stale. Or. Or at least—it was _supposed_ to be.

Too bad for me that it wasn't. It was fresh and—someone was smoking. In the last stall.

Wonderful.

'_I'll just hurry.' _Because students—and teachers—weren't allowed to smoke on campus. If they did all sorts of bad things happened. Heck—Cross wasn't stupid enough to commit the act, though it was obvious to practically everyone when he'd disappear during his lunch break—or off hour—and drive off somewhere.

I turned on the tap, running my hand under it for a moment—I didn't want to splash ice cold water on my face, and I didn't want it to suddenly be scalding. Stupid lackluster school plumbing.

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**(7:45PM) **

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**(Tyki's POV) **

"Lavi?" I knocked on the door, "L_avi_, Morreste?**(15)**" I heard a groan from the other side, and sighed, "Oh good, I didn't want to have to call the authorities." A louder groan, accompanied by a mumble of something unintelligible answered me back, "Do you _want_ to skip out on dinner? Or should I order something in?"

"Don't you always?" Finally I heard his voice, croaking in response, but still there, and dreadfully quiet too, "It's a Friday, right?"

"Well, yes, but," I sighed, "if that's what you want."

"Apetece-te cozinhar?" **(16)**

"Well," I didn't hesitate much, "não."

"Problema resolvido." **(17)**I heard the sound of feet hitting the floor—he must have _really _fallen asleep—and a few seconds later, the sound of the lock clicking. The door was opened not even a second later, but the movement was groggy, just like the redhead probably was. And sure enough—he _did_ look tired. Dead tired, in fact.

"I woke you up, didn't I?" It was a novel question, considering the obviousness of his state, "Peço imensa desculpa**(18)**, forgive me?"

He let out a yawn and shrugged, "If you didn't then I wouldn't go t'bed tonight, and that'd be bad, right?"

"Mm, well, surprisingly I don't think we're needed immediately." He relaxed a little, looking a bit surprised, "like I said, the date of the photo-shoot was moved back—because they aren't sure how the weather will hold tomorrow. If it's nice they'll call, if it isn't then we can just walk around town and…take pictures."

"Of anything?" I saw the smile twitching on his lips.

"Of anything." I agreed, "You'd like to have a break anyway, wouldn't you?"

He shrugged his shoulders, "Only if it's allowed. I didn't—it didn't _turn out_ this way, just so I could use your influence to get me free days."

'_Even though I'd be more than happy to give them.' _Though of course, I didn't say that out loud, "True, if anyone thinks that then, my, they're grievously wrong."

Now he was smiling full out, a relieved sort of smile, almost identical—but not as profound—as the one he had given me when I took him in. "Yeah and—thanks for that." He saw the look on my face too, and bowed his head, "for y'know, everything besides the obvious, since I think I've thanked you enough for that already."

"True," I had the sudden urge to reach out and ruffle his hair, and, before I could stop my hand, it was already there, tangling in his hair, "but anyway, are you in the mood to cook now, or should I order out?"

"Order out." He responded, ducking his head even further, and eventually brushing my hand off, "It's easier that way." He was waiting for me to say something, or to ask something, but he asked it himself, apparently, "Whaddya want to eat?"

I let out a laugh, "Should _I_ be the one asking _you_ that?"

He cocked his head to the side and grinned as well, "Maybe but, I'm _sleepy_ and my bed looks good right about now."

I peered over his head and into his room. It was neat enough, for his standards, though the sheer volume of _books_—most of which he either recently bought, or pilfered from his grandfather—made it look like he had no organization whatsoever, even though he _had_ a bookshelf. Two, actually. And his bed had just been unmade.

"Wh-what?" He pushed me enough so that we were both out in the hall now, so he could slam the door to his room, "y'don't have to stare at it like it's going to _eat_ you. My room's not that messy."

I let out a chuckle at that, "No, no, it isn't. So. How does Mediterranean sound? For dinner?"

He blinked, "You can actually order out Mediterranean?"

"Well, probably no." Hmm, well, that _was_ an issue now wasn't it?

"We'll have to make reservations." He didn't sound to opposed to the idea though, "Is there…any place around here?"

"It's a bit of a drive." I explained, "There's one in Chevy Chase—called Tavira.**(19)**"

He let out a low whistle, "That _is_ pretty far. Do you think we'll be able to call and make it there by eight?"

"Possibly, they're open until eleven, I'm sure they won't mind." I smiled and he smiled back, "Should I call?"

He nodded his head, "Yeah—yeah sure. Why not? Make a date of it?"

I laughed, "Porque não?"**(20)**

"Yeah, yeah," It was almost like he was trying to reassure himself, "it's not like we'll _see_ anyone. Or at least, I won't, and there's no issue with you taking _me_ out, is there?" he looked up at me, questioning.

"No, no, it's for business." I quickly assured him, "One good thing about you working for me, I _am_ allowed to take you out—to talk about business, or in this case which photo's we'll be taking. And since there's a job tomorrow," I trialed off, resisting the urge to pet him on the head again, "it's a logical excuse."

At that he smiled, "Okay then, I guess—I guess I should get ready then? Since you look presentable." I immediately looked down at what I was wearing, sure enough I was still wearing my business suit from that horribly stiff meeting earlier, "I'll have to ask how that went too, won't I?" He wondered, opening his door quickly—still facing me—before slipping through, "I'll be out in a second."

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**(8:30PM) **

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**(Lavi's POV) **

I had to admit the place was nice. Really nice. As in—necktie nice, which, I wasn't wearing a necktie—couldn't stand the damn things—but still. Apparently Tyki had been a regular at one point, but it had been a while since he dropped by. He knew the main chef, they talked like old friends. Made things definitely a lot less awkward.

Considering some of the waiters looked at me odd—or my face, anyway, because of my eye patch. Didn't mind it too much, but it'd been a while since people gawked at me. I had been around so many different people; I had forgotten it _wasn't_ normal to not have a functioning eye.

"Here you are," our waiter, after politely casting a look to the side when he saw me, motioned us to the two person table in a quaint little corner of the busy restaurant. It seemed like people loved this place—even if it was almost nearing nine o'clock at night.

"My name is Travis, and I will be your waiter this evening." The man murmured, smiling a friendly smile as he handed us our menus, "I'll be back in a moment to order your drinks," then he hightailed it. Because—and hell, I could see it too—someone was fumbling with dishes in the backroom. That wasn't good. But Travis—he must've been here a while, he swept in through the back room, and the clutter nearly died down. As much as it could at a restaurant, anyway.

"Isto está cheio hoje."**(21)** Tyki murmured, gaining my attention immediately, smiling when I turned to him.

"Yeah it is," I agreed, "Is it usually?"

"Não venho aqui há algum tempo," he flipped the menu over, to look at the wines, "I'd only assume it's picked up business. Tis the season to eat fancy, as they say." He read a few of the entries, before humming, almost—regrettably?—"É uma pena"

"What's too bad?" I flipped the menu over so I could glance at the wines as well. And I tried—tried to ignore the smirk that appeared on the older man's lips.

"Oh, that you aren't old enough." He hummed, smirk spreading just a bit more, "o álcool aqui é muito bom."

"I-Is it?" I flipped the menu back over, and opened it, to look at the appetizers, "Are you planning on getting some?"

"Most likely." His smirk wasn't gone, it made my stomach twist in knots, "But really, it's too, too bad." He leaned slightly across the table at that, ignoring the fact that people probably _were_ looking at us now—since I was responding in English, to words he said that were obviously in a foreign language—and whispered, "Adorava ver-te bêbado."

I felt my face flush ever so slightly then—

"That's not exactly appropriate conversation, yah?" I jolted at the unfamiliar voice _right_ in my ear. It was a girl, from the next table over, with blond hair—in two pigtail braids—blue eyes, pale skin—

Eating a bag of cheetos.

'_Eh?' _

"Oh? And who might you be?" Tyki straightened up, smiling coolly at the girl.

"And who are _you_?" She replied back haughtily.

"Well you're the one rudely interrupted _our_ conversation." He murmured icily, looking the girl up and down without even really moving his eyes, "Wouldn't it be the polite thing for a young lady such as yourself to do?"

"For your information I am _not_ young, and that's kinda odd—coming from you, isn't it?" She popped another cheeto in her mouth, staining her fingers reddish orange.

"Oh? How so?"

"With what you said." She looked like she didn't want to explain.

"Do you even _know_ what I said?"

It was a good question, I had to agree. She definitely didn't _look_ Portuguese, but then I definitely didn't either, yet I knew it probably more fluently than most.

"Nope," she stuck a finger in her mouth, and sucked on it for a moment, "Don't even know the damn language—"

He raised an eyebrow at this, "Then how do you know I said anything?"

"Because of your tone." She replied flatly, crumpling up the cheeto bag, and turning fully in her chair, "Dat en je ziet eruit als een pervert." **(22)**

I let out a snicker, while Tyki just blinked dumbly at her, "Que? Not-comprehending."

"She just called you a 'pervert'." I clarified—his eyes widened.

"I am _not_."

"Pedofiel dan." **(23)**

"That's even worse."

Well at least Tyki recognized _that_ much.

"Oh and you're out to dinner with a cute teenage boy, because?"

"How old are you?"

She blinked, "Achttien."

"Which is?" He looked over at me.

"Eighteen. Same age as me."

"Wait—you're the same age as me?" she gave me an odd look.

"Err, yes?"

"But you look—_older_ than me!"

"Then why did you call him a cute little teenager?" He was being too blunt and I probably knew the next words out of his mouth before he spoke them, "Not that I'm inclined to disagree with you, but,"

"Nineteen_ does_ still mean you're a teenager." She was eyeing me again, "Je ziet er eerder schattig uit dan sexy."**(24)**

"Err, thanks?"

"O que é que ela disse?" **(25)**

"She said I'm sexy." I translated.

"Really now?" And now _he_ was eying me up and down, "Well, now I definitely am inclined to agree."

And then—and then—and then—

"Terribly sorry I'm late." The waiter came up to us, smiling faintly like he had a terrible migraine and wanted to crawl in a hole somewhere, "what would you like to drink?"

"We'll have the Gatão Vinho Verde." The waiter immediately wrote that down on his note pad, smiling at us before saying, "An appetizer to go along with that?"

Tyki looked over at me, like he expected me to know, but again he answered, "The Ameijoas na Cataplana looks good, how about that?" The waiter smiled even more vibrantly—like his headache was suddenly non-existent, which I highly doubted, but _still_—Tyki was good with people. There wasn't a doubt in my mind about that.

"Okay then, I will be back in a few minutes with your order." When the waiter successfully left our table, I turned to Tyki—

"I'm having wine?"

"Yes you are," he almost cackled. Almost.

"Yup, pervert." The Dutch-girl drawled, stuffing the cheeto bag in her purse.

"And you're _still_ here _because_?" Now I could tell he was getting a bit annoyed. Just a bit.

"Because I can be." She taunted, then looked between us, "Zeker weten dat dit geen afspraakje is?" **(26) **

"It's a business meeting."I immediately answered.

She raised an eyebrow, "Really?" I nodded my head maybe a little _too_ enthusiastically, "What kind of business meeting?"

"Oh, just, going over plans for tomorrow." Tyki flippantly cut off whatever I had been going to say, "We're meeting with some very important people, and just going over the basics of how everything should run." He paused, "or at least, we were _supposed_ to."

"Well _my_ bad," she snapped, "Must be pretty important though. And," she was looking at me now, "especially if you've got such a guy like _you_. Is translating your specialty?"

Well _that_—I let out a laugh, "I do it for fun, actually. I'm more of a photographer."

"Ah," she was interested. Oops, "That's interesting. Well," she stood from her seat, and smiled pleasantly, "I'll be in town all this week—I'm on spring break," she explained, "maybe we'll run into each other again."

"Not if we don't have your name." Tyki butted in, yet again. Though I _highly_ doubted he actually wanted it. Really.

"Oh? Oh! Right," She smiled in a none-too-friendly way, "my name is—" she hesitated, "you can call me Noortje."**(27)**

"Noortje?" I smiled, "Well my name's Lavi, and,"

"My name is Tyki," Tyki flashed a smile that was, well, there for the sake of smiling and not because he actually liked her. "I _do_ hope we see you again."

She smiled just as falsely, "Oh, if that's the case, then I'm _sure_ you will." Then she turned on her heels—err, well, make that _clogs_—and…nearly…_flounced_…away.

How…how amusing.

"Are those _clogs_?"

I tried so…very…hard…not to laugh.

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**(11:32PM) **

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**(Tyki's POV) **

"I-I think I know why Allen has a healthy fear of alcohol now." I watched the redhead stumble against the wall, using it to somehow regain what little balance he had. All while I was standing right here. He _could_ use me.

"Really now?" I decided to comment on what he said anyway, "Oh yes, Cross drinks, doesn't he?"

"Y-Yeah," He somehow managed to the couch, before flopping down on it, "An overly healthy amount; actually. But, geh," he buried his head into the armrest, "I think I need Tylenol again."

"No," I immediately denied, "Haven't you read the research on that?" He blinked blearily up at me, and I could tell that _yes_ he probably—under any normal circumstance—_would_ know everything about it, but now he couldn't remember a damn thing, "It does damage to your liver."

His eyes lit up in recognition, "Ah."

"Exactly."

"Still feel like shit," he buried his head back into the cushions.

"Is this your first time drinking alcohol?" He nodded his head, I let out a sigh, "Then how about a warm bath?"

He rose his head only marginally, "How'll that help?"

"It helps me." I shrugged, "But then, I hardly ever get wasted anymore." I walked over to the couch and placed a hand on his shoulder, "How about it? I'll get you something to drink afterwards." His eyes widened, "_Not_ alcohol. Maybe coffee with honey in it, or something. Depending on how you're feeling."

He dizzily pushed himself up off the couch, gripping my arm for balance, and, once he was standing, muttered, "You…sure as hell…know a lot about…hangovers."

I smiled, "Já passei pelo mesmo."**(28)**

"Should that worry me?"

I let out a laugh, maneuvering over to the other side of the couch, so that I could get a better grip on him, "Not particularly." His hands grasped my forearms as I grasped just below his shoulders, steadily moving him away from the couch—and the very pointy and hard coffee table—"though it should make you listen to me, since I've been there."

I led him easily enough past his room, towards the bathroom—which was, thankfully, right across from his room—and, after some skillful maneuvering, and use of wall, to keep Lavi from falling, I had the door open.

"Senta-te**(29)**," I pointed to the toilet, and immediately he stumbled over to it and sat, "If you feel like you're going to throw up, then do that, but," I walked over until I reached the tub, and bent down, turning the faucet on to the 'hot', before letting it run, filling the tub slowly with warm water. "When the tub gets full, get in." I ordered, even though I knew he probably already knew this, "If you need help changing." The expression on his face turned slightly mortified, I _had_ to smirk, "Then just call. I don't want you hurting yourself."

He bowed his head slightly at that, and nodded his head, "O-Okay…" it was one of the only times he stuttered to, "I'll—I'll call, err, you can go."

I nodded my head and turned towards the door. Ironically enough, he didn't shut it behind me, but then, I was sure he didn't want to risk—standing up and then _getting_ hurt because of it.

I hadn't even gotten down the hall, though, when two things happened. One was my cellphone going off—loudly—in my pocket. The next was a loud _crash_—coming straight from the bathroom.

"Lavi?" I called out, jerking my cell phone out in nearly the same movement, "Are you—"

"I'm fine!" He shouted back, but his voice sounded strangled.

I quickly checked the number on my phone—but, in the long run, which was more important? I turned the phone on silent, and slipped it into my pocket again, "Are you sure?" I called back, turning around on my heels and, poking my head back into the bathroom.

Sure enough he very much was _not_ fine.

He had somehow managed to get his shirt off, but he had slipped—somehow?—backwards, and now he was grasping the edge of the sink for dear life.

"Of course you're fine." I took two steps, and was behind him, helping him up, "Here, let me help. Your balance is obviously skewered."

"I don't…need," he tried, and maybe he was blushing again, or maybe it was because of the alcohol, but really—I didn't pay attention to that in the long run. I had to keep him steady. Or at least get him up off the ground, which I succeeded in doing, making sure both his hands were firmly on the counter, _by_ the sink—not _in_ the sink.

"Do you feel sick?" He shook his head, I could see his blushing face in the mirror, "That's good, at least, here." I reached down to help him with the buckle of his pants—which I realized, maybe, this was one of the first times I had seen him wear a belt—"You lost weight?"

He tensed, and tried to slap my hands away, "I can do…that myself. And no, I," he paused, "I'm just wearing it to wear it."

"Okay," I relented, but didn't move my hands. I had the buckle undone now anyway, "there you go."

"I said I could do it myself."

He really_ was_ blushing.

"Sentes-te embaraçado."**(30)** I grinned. It was a statement, not a question, and he _knew_ it.

"I am—" but he was looking at his face _right_ in the mirror. He let out a strangled laugh, "I am, aren't I?" He immediately switched, "B-But really, I can…I can get undressed by—by myself."

"And risk you falling over again?" I wondered with a mock-horrified face, "You have to be at least somewhat presentable tomorrow."

He wasn't meeting my gaze—even though it was indirect, through the mirror—"Yeah well—y'shouldn't've gotten me _drunk_."

"Mas foi divertido." I couldn't ignore the shiver that ran down his spine.

"For you maybe," he ground out, before lowering his voice, "Maybe you really _are_ a pervert."

"Que?" I let out a laugh, "you agree with that—clog-girl?"

"Maybe." He shrugged his shoulders slightly, in the same motion trying to move away from me but finding, of course, that he _couldn't_.

Oh how I _loved_ counters now.

But all in the same breath—or thought, in this case—I had to wonder, _'What's gotten into me?' _I could blame the alcohol, if I wanted to take back my earlier words of not getting overly-drunk for _ages_—but then, I hadn't directly said _that_ either—so I could get off as drunk. But then—being presentable tomorrow—

'_Oh well, he'll need practice anyway.' _I felt another, more forceful, smirk coming on, _'Especially if I plan to keep him.' _

"Oi—hey—hey!" he grabbed at my wrists, or at least tried to, "I really _can_ undress by myself—y'don't _have_ to help me pull my pants off!" he was panicking now, just a bit, and he was facing me now.

Oh. His mistake.

"Again, what if you fall over?" I questioned just for amusements sake, "I wouldn't be helping you if I hadn't already been through something similar." He blinked, confused, "It really is quite painful, to trip, and fall, and have no one help you. Even when getting undressed." I was thankful, now, that I was taller than him. Five inches taller, to be exact.

"Y-Yeah well, I'll _take_ that risk." He pushed against my chest again, not as hard as before, but just as defiant, "So—so _stop_."

"Didn't you hear me?" I wondered, vaguely aware of the fear that was suddenly flashing in his one good eye, "I just want to help."

The fear that turned into a glare, "Desino —dammit, _stop_. You're—you're drunk too, aren't you?"

I smirked, "Maybe just a bit."

His face immediately paled, "Then—then you shouldn't be in here. You should be—y'know—lying down too."

"Oh I'm not _that_ drunk." I let out a laugh, which seemed to scare him even more, "Don't worry, it's not enough to put me under."

"But it's enough to do _something_, right?" He was uneasy, in his one good eye, it was easy to see.

"Mm, maybe." I hooked my fingers in his belt hoops, and tugged a bit, just to measure. It made him jump, "What I _should_ be asking is—why are you so jumpy?"

"I'm not jumpy." He immediately denied, "You're too close, dammit, didn't I _say_ I could—" my hand found the zipper of his pants—really, it was too easy, which made me wonder how many times I had _done_, well, _this_, in the past, maybe too much, but, who cares about the little details? I certainly didn't, and he didn't seem to be the one to—and began to tug.

This time he really _did_ jump, "Você pouco mentiroso." I laughed, managing to undo his button in the same breath.

He looked away. Or tried to, muttering, "Stop," again, under his breath.

"I'm just helping you."

"No." Oh, and now he looked at me. Defiance still there, "You're _being_ creepy. And," oh—he _knew_. "Are you trying to hit on me?"

"Whatever makes you say _that_?" I laughed, I couldn't help it.

"Because," his grip was back on my wrists again, but nowhere near as harsh, "Maybe because you're drunk. Or maybe because—it's been a year."

"True, a year." I agreed, tugging on his belt hoops again. He didn't jump this time.

"Well," he stated, matter of fact, "I guess—I should tell you, first."

"Que?"

He smiled. Or, well, it was a grin, "É melhor não fazeres isso."**(31) **

"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow at that. He was being _serious, "_Why not?"

"Vais magoar-te." It was simple, but, how could I believe _that_?

"No I won't." I laughed, "Shouldn't you be worried about getting _yourself_ hurt? Or are you forgetting this is my house?"

That didn't bother him. And maybe that was my warning, in a nutshell. Because he didn't really give warnings on anything—and maybe I should have known then too, that he was being serious. But. He just repeated, this time in English, "You shouldn't. You'll get hurt." He closed his good eye for a moment, before opening, "But not by me."

"Then by who?"

He shrugged his shoulders elaborately, "I dunno, but it doesn't matter does it? You obviously won't listen."

I thought that over, maybe, for a half a second, "No," I chuckled, "No I won't."

"Fine then," he exhaled, almost dramatically, "then there's one thing I'll ask." I raised my eyebrow again, "It's nothing bad—or corny or—or yeah." He bowed his head a bit, one hand letting go of my wrist to reach up and touch his face. His eye patch.

"Your eye patch?" I wondered.

"Yeah," he barely nodded his head, "Don't…don't remove it. 'kay?" he lifted his head, he was looking at me now, grinning. "Okay?"

I smiled back at him—though from my reflection in the mirror, it was more like a smirk, "Okay, that's doable." He dropped his hand back down to my wrist again, "No touching the eye patch. I'll remember that."

"Good." A simple statement, which I repeated.

"Bom."

Then, rather elaborately, I leaned down—and stole his first kiss.

His first kiss from _me_.

**-------(Translation Notes--HUGE thank you to** **Evanescent Silence, again!)-------**

1-Obrigado: Male form of saying "Thank you"

2-De nada: You're welcome (who doesn't know this…?)

3- Estás bem: Are you well? (or Are you Okay?)

4- Nem por isso: Not really

5-Isso não ajuda : Literally "that not aid" but roughly means "That doesn't help"

6- Então o que é que sugeres: literally "What you suggest" but means "What do _you_ suggest?" in this

7- Podes distrair-me.: "You can distract me" (S-sounds really wrong, no? XD)

8-O quê: "what" (it means roughly this in French too)

9- Não foi isso que eu quis dizer: literally "It is not this that I wanted to say"

10-A sério: Literally means "serious" but means "Seriously?" or "Really, now?" (or something around that) in this instance

11-**Mimi: **An anime-only character. She plays a similar role in this, though is (hopefully) a little less annoying.

12- "C'est de notoriété publique": literally "it is of notoriety" but meaning "It is common knowledge" in this case (FRENCH)

13-C'est logique: That makes sense

14- Elle a un petit ami : She has a boyfriend

15-Morreste: literally "you die" but in this case "Did you die?" (he's being funny—Portuguese again, obviously)

16-Apetece-te cozinhar: literally "it is felt as to cook", but here it's "Do you feel like cooking?"

17-problema resolvido: Problem Solved

18-Peço imensa desculpa: "I apologize a lot" (roughly Terribly sorry, in this case)

19- **Tavira: **This is an actual restaurant! It's in Maryland, right by Chevy Chase lake. I've never been there, but it sounds really serves Mediterranean and Portuguese cuisine. It's hours for dinner are 5:30PM-11:00PM –got it off their site, oh yes-

20-Porque não: Why not

21- Isto está cheio hoje: It is very busy here; Não venho aqui há algum tempo: I haven't been here in a while; É uma pena: It's too bad; o álcool aqui é muito bom: The alcohol is good here; Adorava ver-te bêbado: I would love to see you drunk (-insert inane laughing here-)

22-Dat en je ziet eruit als een pervert : That and you look like a pervert. (THIS IS DUTCH)

23- Pedofiel dan: Pedophile, then; Achttien: Eighteen

24- Je ziet er eerder schattig uit dan sexy: "You look more sexy than cute" (roughly)

25- O que é que ela disse: What did she say? (PORTUGUESE again)

26-Zeker weten dat dit geen afspraakje is: Sure this is not a date (DUTCH)

27-**Noortje**: It's a French/Dutch (google/baby name sites can't decide which) name meaning "Pity" in French. I'm blaming a friend of mine for this OC. She demanded a Dutch speaking character, thus she got a dutch speaking character.

28-Já passei pelo mesmo: I have been through my part/share

29- Senta-te: Sit

30- Sentes-te embaraçado: Are you embarrassed; Mas foi divertido: But it was amusing/fun; Desino: Stop (LATIN); Você pouco mentiroso: You little liar

31- É melhor não fazeres isso: you shouldn't; Vais magoar-te: You'll get hurt

**-------(ENDING NOTES)-------**

**  
And this is the end of Part One. Yes, I have the next 3 chapters (each roughly the same page length as this one) done as well. Though I don't know how long (Chapter-wise) this will be overall. Which leads to me saying this:**

**PLEASE REVIEW. I worked too hard on this just to let it sit on my hard-drive collecting digital dust. I WOULD LOVE feedback. It would, in fact, make my day, and the days to come. IF YOU HAVE SUGGESTIONS/QUESTIONS/ETC I will take them, but please be aware of all the natural things (obviously, the main one being, I'm human too, I'm about to graduate High School, and the sheer volume of work they try to cram in you during the last 2 months is enough to make one want to huddle in a little corner and cry) so I'm DOING THIS FOR FUN/AS STRESS RELIEF, and because I love D. Gray Man so much. **

**But in the end it is up to you, as the reader –bows head- thank you for your time. **

**-Till the Next Chapter(?)**

**Harmony283 **

**(EDITED: 04/29/09 4:59PM)  
**


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